


'45

by b_s_robinson



Category: No Fandom
Genre: 1940's, Age Difference, American - Freeform, Anal, Angst, Anti-Hero, Anxiety, BDSM, Biracial Character, Bisexual Male Character, Consensual Non-Consent, Daddy Kink, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Falling In Love, Feminist Themes, Flogging, Forbidden Love, Gender Roles, German, History, Homeless Harry, I used google translate, Incel - Freeform, Interracial Relationship, Jewish, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, Nazi, Nazi Germany, Open to Interpretation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Torture, Period-Typical Racism, Piss Inside, Piss Play, Racism, References to Hitler, Romance, Simp, Survivor - Freeform, Survivor Guilt, Thief, Unrequited Love, War, Watersports, World War II, Worship, anxiety induction, cum, eventual simp, ex nazi, farm, gay Hitler, german langauage, involuntarily celibate, one hit wonder, period drama, regime, retiree, singer - Freeform, sorry - Freeform, villain turned good, vintage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_s_robinson/pseuds/b_s_robinson
Summary: After being cast off by his infamous sister, Alan Hayworth tours Germany, finding his own fame and fortune in the likes of the Reich's leader; Adolph Hitler, a mad man. Shortly, once becoming lovers down the years, after the invasion of the Americans, the Furher kills himself and leaves Alan once again with no home; Now a relieved Nazi in plain hiding, living a life of modesty, he casts his eyes on a poor mulatto girl in a market, falling in love instantly, but this love is all one-sided.It's up to Alan to choose to pursue his interest in the beautiful Annika or return back to his old ways of life as a former Nazi.
Relationships: Alan Hayworth/Annika Vollmerhausen





	1. Chapter 1

OCs will be listed in the next post. Hope you like it, more to come.


	2. In The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan meets Hitler and falls in love with the Reich. 
> 
> *warning : Mentions of real-life famous personalities

Alan POV

It was the winter of 1940 when I have had it with women of every kind; even a good Christian girl as such. I had a fiance, while it lasted. A butter blonde girl with full Aryan blood coursing through her veins. It turns out she was a slut, a degenerate, no less whom my sister Rita adored-- I couldn't stand the sight of her either, she belittled me at every chance she got and claimed she loved me, saying "Al, you will get your chance one day, it didn't work out then but it will someday," someday? I was a great singer, better than Rita even; all the same, she outshone me. We could've been a real act. Every now and then but when I would go to take my chance, she stole it with her legs . . . those long and clumsy legs. Rita, God forgive me, was every bit worth loving and she didn't know her place or the time. So, on the road with my sister through capitols of the world, we reached Berlin, Germany. The place was a warzone and yet a thing of splendor. My first day here and people made me feel at home, the camaraderie . . . it was all amazing.

The infamous villain, Adolph Hitler demanded the presence of my sister in a play. The tale of a beloved nation that was Germany, a tale of small passion and bigger heroism. Rita looked uneasy around Adolph the evening we dined as he'd given her the script. She hadn't eaten much but the soup and crackers, she slipped into the night, retiring to her bedroom, in his immodest sized home, outranking the size of Rita's by far and much grand than my apartment in New Hampshire. 

This left me with Hitler, Goebbels, and his many other disciples in the dining room, to drink, talk and eat like pigs, gorging ourselves on the finest foods. 

"How good is your German, Alan?" he woke me from my solemn daze, where my eyes beamed into the sauteed spinach, my hands rose from my thighs and flew up into the underside of the table.

"Fuck," I mutter to myself. 

I look at Hitler's tie, too afraid to look into his bulbous, dark eyes; he repeated himself, "Alan, how good is your German?' 

I loosened up once he said my name, addressing me, not Rita, not Goebbels or his other disciples, but . . . me, so I returned, in him, the same gesture, with a smirk teasing the corners of the sight side of my lips, I opened my mouth and began to sing in German, eloquently and as he hoped. From then on, Herr Hitler named me his "Blonde Canary". I smiled and bowed and never stopped from this night on. After Rita's performance for Herr Hitler, she returned home to the States to star in more movies, begging me to come home with her. The Furher offered me a permanent spot here with him as a private singer, his 'boy', if you will; I was fed up with living in Rita's shadow. 

He showed me the ropes, let me in on his plans and when I felt at home, life in America was no longer my home. He introduced me to a life that America simply could not offer me, dozens of impressive whores met at my feet and trembled at the sound of my voice. In the concert, there were many women who have me their best wishes and for every outstanding night, Adolph would congratulate me himself, personally taking my manhood in his hands and breaking it into the swift exit that was me. 

"Mein Furher," softly, I called on him, I sang to him day in and day out as long as I could until he left me, that fateful day.

He called me to give him peace, but that afternoon I was lazing about, taking extra time than I usually did to get up from the bed because I hadn't slept much the previous night. Stress bit at my bones and poor muscles, and I was 44 after all. I remember walking down the hall, passing the mess that was made out of the guards, whistling to prepare my voice and self. As I opened the door, I saw him, my Furher, Herr Hitler, Adolph, my beloved with a gun in his hand to his head, tearful, lips agape and quivering, saying, "I am so sorry," in his Germanic mother tongue. He shot himself before I could run to his aid, dead-- point-blank. A waste of a man who I had fallen to my knees for in sublime devastation. "Mein . . . Mein . . . Herr H-Hitler . . ." I was to scared to move, afraid in my suddenly childish frame of thought that he would disintegrate into ashes or explode into spoiled flesh and blood if I came any closer. 

But when Eva heard the shot, she nearly trampled me, her heels kicking into my elbow, gathering Adolph into her arms, nothing happened to his corpse or to me. I rest on my knees, looking at her cry, and I damn God through my own tears. My palms turned up into heaven with droplets of water running down my lifelines. 

After that, the noises of Evas sobs and the ricochet of bullets mix together; I covered my ears, denying Adolph's abhorrent death. An arm swooped me up by my elbow, and through my tears, I could see he was an Italian shoulder. _Scum_. I thought to myself. I wanted to spit in his face but something warned me not to. "are you Alan Hayworth?" the soldier asked me. "yes," I tell him, giving myself up. 

"You are being rescued and relieved of your slavery from that dead Nazi son of a bitch, your sister gave clear orders that you come home-- active immediately," 

Active immediately? No, no, no. Nein. I could not go home when all the home I had was here, as it has been for the past almost six years, after this chance encounter I made with the love of my life. To everyone, a monster. All I had was here, with him and with Eva, in Berlin. Surely, Joseph was gone too. I thought. "I can't go back there," I told the soldier. 

"There is no more fear now, Al," the Italian bastard says, casually calling me by my nickname as if we were such buddies from before. He didn't know me, he didn't know shit!" he's dead," he assured me. 

Yes, Adolph was dead and I didn't want him to be, maybe I expected too much from him, he was always so big and strong, masking it all but he was a human like me, like Rita and like Eva, we all had our weaknesses and he had so many that I chose to ignore because he made me feel like a man in the short years we had together, which now only seemed like half of a lifetime of fun. Little moments. I had no room to blame my beloved. I blame only myself for not being on time to soothe him with the reason of song. Like he had so kindly asked for. 

The Italian scum looked at me with bewilderment, "man, you don't have to go home but you can't stay here," he told me. 

I had no home besides this place. I collected myself, standing taller than the Italian himself, "let me get my things, please," I beg the solider. He nods curtly and cuffs my wrists in front of myself, walking me through the halls which are now a warzone, German-Aryan guards in heaps of blood and fading blue and green eyes, the survivin German soldiers that the Americans didn't kill were in groups, being guarded by the Americans, having their guns taken away from them. The Gestapo was belittled and stripped of their clothing by the second, they looked at me, with their noses up even in their demise. All this time I had knowns them, drank, and partied with them in the Furher's home and company. 

I had to get Maximus, my dog, who was in my room. He was the last thing that connected me with Adolph-- as Maximus was a gift from Adolph. Once we had made it up the stairs and I directed the Italian bastard to my room, he uncuffed me. "you will only have ten minutes to pack and get your valuables, Mr. Hayworth," the Italian warned, darting his eyes into mine. I could hear Maximus pawing at my door. 

"Maxie!" I called, lovingly. "he must come too," 

The soldier sighs and nods, "very well, Mr. Hayworth." 

I walk in my room and Maximus jumps on me in clear distress; the bullets and warfare outside alarmed him so, he was even covered in blood. I forced my tears to stop around the time that I started packing, I didn't want the soldiers to seem that I was more affected by Adolph's death than what met the eye, they might have felt inclined to kill me too as I was the lover of Adolph Hitler, but they didn't know that and no one ever would. They swore out I was here, kept against my will. I could see them talking about me through my ravaged and ruined bedroom door. It blares with the color red, unnatural and oozing red, shot through and speckled with holes of pale pink. 

_"Yes, that's his singer . . . The Blonde Canary they call him," they talked._

I rolled my eyes as they gossip about me, but nonetheless was I grateful for the soldier granting me privacy out of what I could muster from the doors that were left in my quarters and I-- unscathed. I gathered my uniform, medals (which were welded by the Furher himself), handfuls of photos of my time here that I stashed in the folds between my pants and the handkerchief that Eva made for me. It wasn't much but they were valuables all the same. "I need to take a piss," I yell to the soldier. 

"Hurry it up!" he tells me. 

I roll my eyes once again, entering my bathroom and turning the faucet knobs ever so carefully as if I were using the bathroom myself and taking a piss which makes me think back to Adolph pissing on me during one of our midnight meetings, sometimes Eva would watch us and get off to him degrading me with such fervor. I reminded myself to focus on the task at hand with such limited time before I overstepped my privacy between the soldier assigned to "rescue" me. Behind the radiator, there is a deed and money that I had stashed in such situations as Eva warned me things may not go the way Adolph had wanted them to and we were ever _fucked_.

There was a loosened brick behind the radiator that I fidgeted with to get it to come undone, and when the brick popped there was revealed wads of cash that Adolph left me and the deed to the countryside house he had in my name, and for this I was grateful; I had told Eva and Adolph that there would be no need for such an idea set in place for me because this was my home, I wouldn't ever need for another and yet, here I was. The plan had gone awry and I would be entitled to a modest house made of cobblestone and wood that resides by a cherry farm. 

I stashed the deed inside the inner pocket of my vest and hurry the money inside of my trunk but I felt like my hands couldn't move fast enough, I was still in a state of fresh grief, I panicked. "hurry up, won't ya? _We've_ got Nazis to kill, Hayworth!" the soldier snapped.

I jumped, picking up the saddened pace. "come on Maxie," I pat my leg and bid him follow me. Two soldiers were in front and behind me, watching my every move as I carried the trunk and had Maximus follow me at a steady gait. We exit the demolished house quietly and great shame overcomes me as I leave my home, leave Eva, and the boys behind us. I can hear her calling out my name over and over again, damning me and the rest to hell. 

I return one more look behind myself as they drag her body from out of the house, in a fit. I would be miles away from all the love and pride I have ever known. A place where I wasn't undermined by women and congratulated by all, praised next to Adolph himself. After all, this was home for only a while where the grandest parties were thrown and where there was no mention of warfare, where orgies were held, and where we all became a united front.   
  


A car came for us, pulling to the soldier and I. I opened the door for myself and stuffed my trunk in and got in, taking Maximus on my lap, who was still afraid and even more than I, knowing that we were never coming back here and there was nothing either of us could do about it or _his_ death. How the Americans must be partying, joyous of his death, and they are conquering our nation. Probably dancing over my beloved's body. 

The songs and dances, coming home kissing their wives, mothers, and sisters; so many lives have been taken between this war Adolph waged and that was his only fault I had against him in this besides him taking himself out of the equation, the death he led behind. I never wanted this but I stood next to him anyway. I was without Adolph and Eva, and yet in love with them and everything they believed, what they stood for that held Germany steadfast as well with a passion to be a proud nation. And now this war was over. 

The passion of this prideful nation in Adolph's eyes would've been the way God intended it until the Americans stomped over our grounds and I used to be an American.

We reached the countryside in which I told the soldier this is as far as I'd allow them, I feared being followed by them in the case they knew where my house remained. It was a long and muddy walk to the house in the countryside until I saw the cherry farm that gave me hope that my house was close. The flowers sway in the waves of wind like a lullaby. This was home now, for me and for Maximus. 

"We go, Maxie." I told him. 

He runs through the high unkempt grasses of the country. The air is fresh and wicked with dew; with the smell of Earth and almonds, a sweet sensation that filled by every waking sense. _This will do._ I thought. This and the trunk full of all the memories I had left. 

An unknown future mirrored me in this same moment, in the pale fog, surrounded by a shire . . . lime green and flecks of yellow fading roots. We let loose, our feet in the fields. To my right, I see a bay of trees, where the cherry fields start and don't end. Nothing about this was home but it was all I had to remake and redeem the good parts about myself. The parts without a family. 

\---

I hope you have all enjoyed! 


	3. What Was The American Dream?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan settles into life on the countryside, later on meets a girl who gives him a change of heart

Alan POV

Five months ago I was leaving the second home I had ever known. My first, of course, I spent with my mother, father, sister, and two brothers. I was forgotten of course, maybe for not being as attractive as the others, but it was still home all the same. Papa was not a man to be proud about but the pets my mother let me kept made up for all the times we needed to forget he was around; in the subtle life of mediocrity. Then here, in Berlin where I lived it up with Eva and Adolph for those five years of grandeur. 

Now left with a choice to make my life from up under them both, as a nobody . . . Again. I had free reign at the singer of the Furher, access anywhere and everywhere. The country was my playground. **Our** playground. But now I had free reign again, as a man with a dog and his solemn little home. Maximus kept me busy when I wasn't working at the crisis centers and hospitals, days I spent in the soup kitchen, tunes I carried with me as the needy people scarfed down what they could-- the cool, nearly heatless soup that made me think of fonder times when the soup was rather leisure than a necessity. 

My songs became an exchange for what the heat had seeped out of the window in the shack of a hospital, I sang until my song would give out and play the guitar happily for the survivors and this made me thankful, it opened up my stubborn eyes. Many Jews came out of the woodwork, faces aflame with fear blushing upon their cheeks. The elderly and the ladies that remained requested songs and I knew quite a few, mainly, Nightingale. The Polish would request I sing and I sadly shook my head, not knowing any Polish folk tunes. They grew weary of the songs in their own mother tongue, "abandoning the serenades of Hitler" as they say as if it were a plague. The services of my songs were exchanged to give me a canteen of soup broth and two jugs of freshly churned milk, every day as payment since money was tighter than the food rations in these crisis centers and hospitals. My other forms of payment were either taking it up the ass of working odd jobs for women that felt unsafe to do the tasks themselves because I was a tall and lanky man and around some parts where there was danger, people still branded me as "The Blonde Canary", or "Hitler's Bird". It was hard to walk as a target and hard to be seen as a threat at the same time. 

Girls who recovered well at the centers were now ready to go home and still try for a normal life, they pinched at my shirt all the time with their dainty fingers and offered me many advances, some grandmothers were at the ready to offer away their daughters and granddaughters for marriage to me. . . Who all were very beautiful but not in the slightest did I feel truly available. I did fuck them every chance I got, at the girls who wanted to disappear in their minds for a moment, offering them my cock but most were turned down as I felt dormant inside as well. I had no room for love and attention to these Jewish girls, most of all, they were not _him_. They were not Eva either. The little survivor Jews were not the ones who had looked up to him in his regime like I did, nor were they as sweet a child as the ones I had come across during my time in Adolph's home. 

On my bicycle rides home, once a week I would grab a small sack of cherries to last me for a week or so. After my services for today, it was four in the afternoon when I stopped by the farmer's market for this week's food supply, and there was not much around to be sold as there was still a war for food if not anything else. I left my bike the side, looking at the view ahead of me, there was some flowers that looked weaker than the florist selling them. Cabbages, radishes, onions, carrots, apples and apple sauce chickens, a few burlap sacks of potatoes, tomatoes, various pies, honey, pumpkins, and peas. I was thinking of a salad and maybe sundried tomatoes for the week? And a blueberry pie. There was enough here for a stew. A poor one at that, but all the same, a stew too. 

I took a bag walked around filling it up, then I walk over to Fraulein Schmidt's fruit stand where she sells her apple sauce and she smiles at me kindly, "good evening," she says in her slightly improved English. "good evening Fraulein Schmidt, how do you do?" I asked. Her hands settle at her hips and she looks at her worn-down shoes. 

" _Am leben_ ," she mutters. 

I smile back at her awkwardly. " _eins bitte,_ " I tell her. 

She gathers a jar of apple sauce for me, waiting for her payment and I hand her a few coins in the sum. "when will you teach me, eh, English?" she asks. 

"Soon," I promise, same as last week. "Fraulein I am busy, I work day in and day out, sing all the time,"

She takes the money from me and shoes me away in a playful manner, and leaves me in a good mood again. Fraulein Schmidt turns a blind eye from her stand to help another farmer with his broken jars of jam and squash puree, she's an angel, that lady. A girl in my peripheral view stalks around the market rather anxiously, away from the potato stand, hovering about the fruits just from where I was a moment ago. She's a nigger nonetheless, but not just any kind, no something about her is different . . . Something holds me captive once I have the slightest glimpse of her. As she is in a world of her own and I am in mine, in my head. I didn't take my eyes off of her too timid and too graceful frame. Her skin is malnourished, ashen from the lack of sun yet it holds a hue of gold, and her eyelids are cast down so low that I cannot see the color or life in them and the body of the girl-- plucked from a tree! Ripe and delicate in all of the right places. Her lips appear small and as bright as the inside of a fig; fingers as nimble as spider's legs.

Only once did I see the negro girl's eyes lit when she reaches for the grapefruit. The light beamed on her hand through the hole in the shade of the stand, the little hand had bruise marks and cuts. White streaks above her nailbed, meaning she must've fought a lot but how I desired to kiss them and I didn't know her name. She surely thought no one was watching when she pulled the singular fruit from the stand and plopped it into her bag and looked both ways. She stole from Fraulein Schmidt. 

My first thought was to alert Fraulein Schmidt but the girl would only run away, she could only be confronted in a gentle manner. I didn't want to scare her or anyone. By the look of her chapped bottom lip, I knew the girl was desperate and she couldn't help herself so I approached her calmly, making my best attempt to smile. " _hallo_ ," I greeted her. _"Was für ein schöner Tag."_ I said. 

The negro girl straightened out her skirt, _"ja,_ " she agreed. I stepped closer to her side, grabbing the grapefruit for myself, shinning it with my jacket. 

"You can turn yourself in or either let me pay for that, Fraulein," I insisted.

The girl flinched. "however do you mean, H-Herr--" her voice trailed off but all the same her voice in English was impressive. 

"Herr Hayworth," I corrected her. "I mean the grapefruit you just snatched in that, there bag of yours." I implied. I wanted to buy it for her, she apparently had not a cent more for the grapefruit and by the look of her hazel/green eyes, I could see how badly she wanted and needed it. I _wanted_ it for her just as badly. She shifted in her stance and I eased my shoulders as not to come off impatient or to unsettle her either. "Fraulein I will not be the one to perjury you, but at your own conscience, I purchase the fruit if you like or we can go to these officers over there,"

The negro girl turned her nose upwards and slanted her eyes at me in subtle but obvious disrespect. "and be in your debt?" she asked. "Herr Hayworth, in the short likes of you, you are a bully without brains," and a smart-mouthed negro she was. 

"I'd hate to see what they'd do to a girl like you, especially a colored," I said blatantly. I know what she is going for. "a glass of milk for your troubles?" I offer.

"Nein," she muttered. I frowned.

_Was I that unattractive?_

"Nein?" I asked. 

The girl firmly nodded and handed me the grapefruit from her purse. "nein." she would rather starve than let me help her or have a glass of milk with me. I had it up to high heaven, I called over the officers. _"offziere! Offziere!"_ at a quick turn away from the girl to call the officers, I look back at where she was standing and she was gone and so was the bag she had in her hand, with other stolen goods. 

" _Ja_?" asked an officer, panting for air. 

"There was a girl," I said, pointing at where she might've gone. "a negro, I caught her stealing and she ran away!" 

"We do not have any negroes around here, if so, we'd know." the other officer confirmed. 

"Where was this . . . _negro girl?_ "

_I shook my head to the officer, letting the incident go. They told me that they'd keep an eye out for any negro girl. "offziere? If you happen to come across the negro girl, perhaps give me her name and address?"_

They simply nodded to me before walking off. 

From that moment on I was entranced with the market. I had hoped we'd meet again, despite the fact what would I do with a nigger? How was I bewitched by one? Adolph told me negroes were the scum of the Earth with their "tar skin", second to Jews. Was this apart of them as well? Not only to be scum but so devilish and bewitching? Satan-sounded and seamed, the girl was loose-lipped and hell-bound, wounding me with her words and whispery, velvet-like voice. The strong width of her hips through her modest-made dress. What more had no one told me of the women of color and apparent beauty? 

Who had told that tar baby to be so much more beautiful than any Aryan woman that soldered the streets of Germany in their clanking heels? Even more, who told me to care that the nigger hungered? The dinner that was measly, the stolen grapefruit. By my God it was not right to take what you couldn't afford but was it worse to hunger in the eyes of God? Like the Jews in the shelter, she had a face aflame of fear, turned to a face of defiance. 

That night, the ride home and after I made myself dinner, my stomach tussled it's first tornado it had in a very long, long time. I could not understand this feeling. Adolph would know what to do but nonetheless, Adolph was dead. His ghost could not provide concrete advice on how to exterminate the feeling in my gut swelling about the negress. Maximus nipped at me for hours until I retired to bed, still thinking about the girl. Her bruised hands beat down shoes and her dingy smock. The way her hair staled at her frail shoulders, curls that furled like shrubs, cheeks like diamonds, and a nose bound as a button with sharp brows. Her eyes, I could never forget, they forged a fire deep in my neck, pouring into my chest. 

That, in my throat took wing, my song kept me up at night through the window of my bedroom connecting me somewhere under the moon. "take me here, and take me there, take me nowhere, but where it will be with you . . . Between the stars in the night's blue," I sleep with that tune in my own ears, carrying the pitch of midnight. 

The next morning was no different, my stomach turned, so I drank a tonic to settle my nerves. Maximus ate the remains of what he hadn't finished last night and I was back at it again, I spent my morning with a cup of coffee, cherries and boiled eggs. I cut the tomatoes early so that during the day I could leave them out to dry while I worked the late shift in the soup kitchen. After I was finished with my task at hand, I walked with Maximus and cleaned up after him, burying the shit then he tired after a while and we watched the sun come up and listened to the radio. I scratched his head. 

"There is nothing but madness on the radio, Maxie," I tell him. He barks in agreement and leaves me to sit on the pillow inside the house by the oven. I am still outside enjoying my coffee and people talk of relief on the radio, how the Americans have saved the day after it's been relieved five months ago. It is the last month of summer and things still feel cold to me, there wasn't an inch of relief for someone like me. The nigger girl gave me no relief either, but this feeling stirs in me, a bothering sensation of bliss when I think of her. 

I shake my head, snapping out of it, continuing my dull morning ritual. As early as it was and how long I spent outside with Maximus, listening to the blasted radio, there is still time to take a nap, once more, and that would last until the afternoon. I shuffled back into the cobblestone house again, retreating to my bed to forget the girl. 

Maximus was on schedule as he had been since he was born, he'd lick me to wake me up in the afternoon, like my own alarm clock and therefore, a machine was not needed one bit. He had his well-deserved pat on the head, "good Maxie," 

I dressed in a denim shirt and pants with my old dress shoes, I came out of the room and looked at Maximus. "what do you think, boy?" I twisted around and let the German Sheppard sniff at me and cock his head to the side. He barks at me. "well this is going to have to do, old boy," I told him, throwing my hands up. He sure was helpful, that dog. 

"Oh you blasted dog!" I ruffle him between his ears and pat his sides. I huffed and made my way down to my door but as I take my soup to go he rubs against my leg. "boy, I've got to go! I won't be long." I promise Maximus. I turned away from him before I could see his sad expression or let it taint me. Maximus was the very best of Adolph, the kind parts that no one got to see about any of us, Maximus was my guardian angel, no other dog could do what he had done for me. The saving grace. Thinking of Maximus often led me to thoughts of Adolph, thoughts of sharing intimate moments together invade my mind. . . Stolen kisses, overdone hugs, our camping trips, and when we'd make love especially. 

Times like that I could not help but miss the mad man with so much fear and fervor festering inside of me.

*Flashback* 

"Do you love me boy?" he asks me snapping me from my trance under the sun. 

"Huh?" I snapped my head up to him. He looked at me sincerely, even more kindly than he ever had looked at Eva, his mistress, his soulful and lawfully wedded wife, lesser than ever a day but important all the same as I had been there to sing for his marriage. 

"Alan, I asked, do you love me?"

I froze in the bench as he sat there, legs open to the apex of a triangle, his hand on his lap looking at me intently, now looking for an answer out of me, Adolph made me feel smaller than usual as he smoldered into me, the world was . . . vulnerable. It left me to shiver thinking about how to address him, how do I even begin to tell him what I feel? "Yes or no?" why did he want to know so badly? What was it to him? He may have took an interest in me but he did not indeed feel the same way, I was just fulfilling his own personal perversions-- this fantasy. He could just sense iff of me what I felt. 

"No, Adolph," I took a stand to leave him, he wouldn't have it. He grabbed be by the bicep, yanking me back down to his level. "I won't let your narrow arse leave until you tell me the truth, Alanm" Adolph barked. He struck the fear of God in me. 

"Adolph, please!" I groaned. _Please stop, don't make me say anything. Don't make me admit it when you don't feel the same. How brutal can one man be? I know he killed Jews for sport and extermination but by gosh he didn't have to do this to me._ My heart was a hill with slopes on a beautiful day. 

I look to him, this man . . . this "leader" and I am not pleased. "you fucking imbecile!" of course I loved him, how could I not? How could anyone not? He pulled me into his arms, comforting me. "I just wanted to--"

"Make fun of me? You feel nothing, you just want me to fulfill your sick fantasies is all!"

\---

I remember that day so fondly now, looking back at it. I loved him and somewhere in that strange, mad heart of his I knew he loved me too and that Eva loved me as well. But none of it was okay. At least I can come out from hiding and breathe on my own and find my way out of all of this. I ride into the day, to the soup kitchen thinking of new fantasies to make. Visions of the girl, running through my mind. My fantasies with her, the girl that turned something awful and made my insides flip. 

Would my heart ever feel like a hill with slopes again? 


End file.
